


Bitchin' Betty

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [369]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:02:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8665096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: so @tb5-heavenward proposed the idea of grandma’s voice in “Up From The Depths pt 2″ was actually a Bitchin’ Betty, and then she poked me into writing her something for her headcanon (some of the messages are hers)





	

**Author's Note:**

> pre-series but mentions Jeff's fate in TAG

“Hey kiddo,” Ruth said, knocking and entering in one move.  “You left a message..?”

“Hey mom,” Jeff said, getting up to peck an affectionate kiss to her cheek.  “You look wonderful today, is that a new shirt?”

Ruth was immediately on guard.  “You’ve got your ‘buttering up’ face on,” she said, looking up to pin him with a hard stare.  “What do you need?”

Jeff had the grace to look abashed.  “We’re trying to record the cockpit warning system alerts,” he admitted with a shrug.  “But none of the voices we’ve tried have the right… _snap_.” 

“Okay?” Ruth said slowly, letting Jeff escort her deeper into his sprawling complex of workshops.  “Whaddya need me for?  Oh, hi Brains.”

She liked Jeff’s new head technician; he was a good kid, and smart as a whip.  He smiled, pulling out a chair for her.  “Good morning, Mrs Tracy,” he said.  “Please sit here, in front of the microphone.”

Ruth gave her son a sideways look.  “You want me to have a go?  I’ve been told I have many qualities, kiddo, but a dulcet tone ain’t one of ‘em.”

Jeff ran his hand over the back of his head, looking more like a bashful Kansas schoolboy than the head of a multi-billion dollar empire.  “It doesn’t need dulcet, ma.  It needs, well….the research says that the best voices sound like your parent calling you by your full name.  So who better to record the warnings than you?”

Ruth bit her lip to stop from laughing.  “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”  Jeff’s cheeks were glowing slightly; she let him squirm for a moment.  “So you want me to, what, call you Jeffery…”

Jeff cut her off with a quick wave of his hand.  “Please don’t,” he pleaded. “We just need you to read these commands. But read them like you need someone to do it immediately.”  He gestured at the list.  “Like an order. And you know how much you like giving orders,” he added with an impish grin.

Ruth cast her eye over the list. She’d spent enough time around planes to recognize their importance: pull up, engine fire, roll left, roll right, eject.  “Okay then,” she said, making herself comfortable.  “Start at the top?”

 * * *

Brains made her tea as Jeff listened carefully to the list of commands they’d recorded so far.  “These will work perfectly, mom, thanks.”

Ruth sipped her tea, her free hand scrolling through the document.  “These are for your Thunderbirds?” she asked, noticing the way Brains glanced worriedly at her son.  The Thunderbirds were Jeff’s biggest secret, but she was his mother. She knew what he was up to.

Jeff came over to perch on the bench by her arm.  “Yeah, ma,” he admitted softly.  “The boys will fly these, eventually.  I want them to be safe.”

The next page of words, the commands were more specific, tailored for each Bird.  “Well,” she said, putting her tea aside.  “Let’s get to it.”

She repeated each command several times, putting all her authority into each phrase.  The word _catastrophic_  soon became an collection of syllables rather than an adjective in and of itself.

It still left a taste like ash in her mouth.

She thought of those boys, playing schoolyard games safely at home, needing to hear clear instructions, and took a deep breath.  “Let’s record that one again,” she told her son.  “It needs to snap.”

 * * *

Brains had to run some tests on the recorded files.  Ruth took the opportunity to step outside.  Her son found her there a quarter hour later.  “I thought you quit,” he said, disapproval threaded through his tone.

Ruth exhaled, feeling the toxic burn of the cigarette in her throat.  “I did.  But one of those nice boys in a lab coat was happy to let the boss’s mother bum a cigarette.”

Jeff came to lean on the wall, his arm bumping her shoulder.  “Sorry, I know that was a lot to ask.”

“Hey,” she told him calmly, dropping the cigarette and grinding it out under her heel.  “If you can’t ask family, who can you ask.” She turned and looked up at him.  “But I have something to ask of you.  I want to add a few more recordings.”

Jeff’s brow furrowed.  “Recordings?  Of what?”

 * * *

The taste of ash on her tongue wasn’t just from the cigarette.  Ruth took a sip of water, composing her thoughts for a moment before she nodded at Brains.

The red recording light came on.  By now, Ruth had the pattern down.

She closed her eyes and thought.  Scott tended to beat the dead horse; he tried too hard to make dead ends work.

“Scott, this is Grandma.  Listen to me.  Stay calm, throttle back…” she exhaled as Brains nodded approvingly, giving her a little thumbs up through the glass that separated the recording booth from the computers.

John, she knew, was already writing code for Five.  Though he’d deny it, she knew John was already in love with his Bird, that the half-built station had already woven her future pilot into her very DNA.  But space was dangerous.

She took a deep breath.  "Johnny, you’re in a decaying orbit. Nothing aboard is worth your life.  Proceed to upper airlock and prepare to eject…“

Virgil was steady, stable and careful in all he did. But he saw the best in people, even when they didn’t see it in themselves.  “Virgil, full power!” she snapped.  “Evasive maneuvers, get out of there!”

Gordon was the eternal optimist, and he trusted the elements – the ocean compelled him ever-deeper, but Ruth had been alive long enough to know the ocean could drown you or save you on a whim.  “Gordo, kiddo, get out of there.  You need to blow the ballast and begin emergency ascent procedures…”

Thinking of Alan made her hands shake.  “Kiddo, listen to me.  You need to make it home, no matter what.  Abort and draw back. It’s okay to save yourself.”

Ruth held up her hand, stopping Jeff with his hand on the doorknob.  She could see his confusion through the glass.  “Jeff Grant Tracy,” she said into the microphone.  “Don’t let your ideals blind you.  Your family needs you.  Come home.”

Jeff’s hand was warm on her shoulder, gentle as his thumb stroked the back of her neck, letting her quietly cry it out.

 * * *

Years later, dressed in black, knowing it was an empty coffin next to Lucy’s grave, Ruth wondered if her voice snapping at him was the last thing her son ever heard.


End file.
